


Death of Jensen/The Catalyst

by SigmaEnigma



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: 1 AM fanfics, Big Brother Simmons, Minor Character Death, familial feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaEnigma/pseuds/SigmaEnigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic that popped into my head while listening to the LFTO Shizno.  The theory being along the lines of, "Jensen will be the tragic death to pull the guys into a serious role"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death of Jensen/The Catalyst

                Opening her eyes, she could see flashes of color through her cracked and battered visor. Someone was holding her, cradling her in such a nurturing manner.

                God, does she miss her mom…

                “Jensen, Jensen are you with me?”

                “Dude, she’s fucking dead.”

                “Grif shut the fuck up!”

                _Yeah, you tell him sir._ She thinks, only because she couldn’t get the words out. Her jaw feels as though it weighed a ton and the ringing in her ears didn’t make it very easy to think out a proper sentence.

                “Holy shit she’s breathing.” Someone says far off. It sounded like the Mercenary guy. What was his name again? Frank, Fred, Fievel? She tries to laugh but her whole body aches when she even thinks about giggling. When she tries, her visor becomes spattered with dark spots.

                “We need to get this shit off.” She hears her commanding officer say. Suddenly, the world has gone from super quiet to way too loud. Gunfire is going off from just about everywhere and the screaming is now louder than ever. She wants to shout at them to put back on her helmet or for someone to cover her ears but still her voice can’t seem to work.

                “Shit that’s a lot of blood.”

                “Simmons we need to move.”

                “Oh fuck no, she’s still breathing.”

                “Simmons this isn’t the time-“

                “Bullshit this isn’t the time, Grif!”

                It hurts so fucking much, but she manages to just barely sit up. Simmons helping her upright. The other girls would be so jealous right now.

                “Hey, it’s okay, we’re- we’re going to get you out of this.”

                “She’ll be dead in a bit just fucking leave her.”

                “Felix shut the fuck up!” Right, that was his name.

                “My stomach hurts…” She manages to final get out. As she reaches to clutch her armor she finds a hand already there. If talking didn’t make her want to pass out she’d squeal at the fact _the_ Dick Simmons had his hands on her. Instead she just leaned back against him, if what they said was true, she might as well milk these final moments.

                “You’ll be okay, we’ll get you back to base and they’ll patch you right up.”

                “If the doc’s not already dead too.”

                “I said shut up, Felix.”

                “Sir…?” She groans.

                “Hey, yeah, right here. Just don’t die okay?” Simmons says it quickly, the words cramming together towards the end. Which is honestly how he talked to all of them back at camp, her and the other girls. This time however, he wasn’t nervous, there was something else in his voice.

                “Am I going to die?”

                “Of course not. Shut up.”

                “You sound like my dad…” Even with the armor on, she notices the odd tensing in her superior’s body.

                “R-really?”

                “Yeah…he always talked like this when I was little…and got scared.” She sucks in a breath, it’s much less painful this time. She wants to chalk it up to her superior’s first aid skills, but they both know.

                “There’s no reason to be scared, you’re not dying.” He’s such a bad liar.

                “Sir?”

                “Yes?”

                “I’m sorry for being scared,” She pauses, trying to give her best smile despite the (thankfully fleeting) pain. “And for dying.”

                “You’re not dying.”

                “Was I useful, Sir?”

                “You still are useful.” Simmons says this to an empty shell of a girl.

                It takes Grif a good five minutes to pull his friend away from the body. It takes the whole night after the mission to help Simmons deal with the rest.

               

               


End file.
